


The Sherlock Clause

by SherlockianMystery



Category: Santa Clause (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianMystery/pseuds/SherlockianMystery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While waiting for a thief, Sherlock accidentally manages to kill Santa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sherlock Clause

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phoenixzeal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixzeal/gifts).



> While watching 'The Santa Clause' with a few other tumblr users, we came up with this idea, which I offered to write. (We also discussed Charlie's line about wanting to take over the family business, but I don't think our jokes about Charlie pushing his father off the roof to become the next Santa have a place here) This is also a late Christmas present to tumblr user lycanvirgin, who was one of the people who helped come up with this idea (and to whom I promised this fic ages ago) Hope you all enjoy it!

 Sherlock snarled to himself and flipped over. How much longer could this take? He’d been lying in this bed for what felt like hours, and still nothing. Not a single sound. He was on the hunt of a thief who had been breaking into people’s houses, and had deduced that this house would be the next in line for burglary. If it hadn’t been for an old Army buddy of John’s calling and asking for help he wouldn’t even be here, so he supposed that it couldn’t be all bad. At least he wasn’t stuck with Mycroft for the annual Holmes Christmas Dinner. He huffed a laugh, feeling more than seeing John’s head turn to look at him, and he shook his head to indicate that it was nothing. Nothing interesting, at least.

  
            That was when he heard it, a thump on the roof. He waited to make sure that it wasn’t just the snow falling in a heap onto another part of the roof, and smirked when there came another thump, and then a clatter. He sat up and nudged John, who began pulling on his boots. A few seconds and a jacket later and he was quietly following John down the hall and towards the ‘formal living room’, listening for the sound of someone gathering up packages. There was nothing, and as they came around the corner they saw only the brightly lit tree and an undisturbed plate of cookies, waiting for Santa. He took a moment to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all, and then continued looking for signs of the thief. Still nothing, what could be taking the man so long? Surely it didn’t take that long to climb down an unlit chimney, even if you were being extremely careful not to slip. He looked over at John and motioned to the back door that could be seen through the entryway from the house’s tiny kitchen and then nodded towards the front door before gently making his way towards it, letting the corners of his mouth twitch up as John followed his silent directions and made his way towards the back door. He waited until John had silently, or as silently as one could given that the hinges hadn’t been properly oiled in what sounded like ages, opened the door before opening the front door of the house himself. He made his way onto the porch and looked around, not seeing any vehicles on the street that shouldn’t have been there, meaning that it had to be someone on this street that was doing the stealing. He looked closer at the snow, and frowned as he saw no footprints, perhaps they had gone up the back? He stepped out further into the cold and looked around, whipping his body back to face the house as the sound of bells reached his ears, coming from….the roof? He looked up and saw a man striding towards the chimney, grinning as he realized that he’d caught the thief. 

“Got you!” he hadn’t meant it to come out as loudly as it had, and he wasn’t prepared for what happened next. The man, hearing his voice, had startled and began to lose his balance.

“The ladder!” he shouted to John, who was only just now coming round the corner of the house. He pointed to the roof and watched as John’s eyes widened in surprise as the man began his descent from the roof. When he hit the ground, both he and John raced towards him, stopping as they realized the man wasn’t moving. Well he was, but it seemed more like he was sinking into the ground, disappearing before their eyes. Sherlock’s mouth dropped open, and he startled as John grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him a few steps back.

“Sherlock,” John began, “I think you’ve just killed Santa.” He let out a snort at John’s words and moved towards the jacket and pants that were left where the man had once been.

“Don’t be ridiculous, John. Everyone knows that Santa doesn’t exist,” he couldn’t, however, explain how the man had disappeared, or why the jacket and pants had been left behind. He also couldn’t explain why the sound of bells and thumps were still coming from the roof. He grabbed the jacket and pants and headed towards the ladder that was sat up against the side of the house. He handed the clothes to John and began to make his way up it, being careful not to lose his footing. It wouldn’t do to end up like the thief, after all. Reaching the roof, however, was almost as dangerous, it seemed, as there were eight reindeer tethered to what looked to be a bright red sleigh.

“What is it, Sherlock?” John called from below.

“Perhaps it would be best if you came up here, John, and saw for yourself,” he called back, not certain of what he was really seeing. How on earth had the man managed to not only get a sleigh on the roof, but eight reindeer as well? It made no sense, but then, some criminals were so mentally unstable that they were able to accomplish the most ridiculous of feats with minimal effort on their part. He grabbed John’s arm and helped him gain his footing on the icy roof, gesturing towards the sleigh.

“Sherlock, I think you really did just kill Santa,” John whispered, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his left hand and holding the clothes with his right arm. A slight giggle made its way out before John removed his hand and offered the clothes to him. Sherlock just rolled his eyes and grabbed the clothes, searching the pockets for anything that could help identify the man. He shivered as an icy wind swept over the roof, wishing he had thought to grab his jacket on the way out. Without saying a word, John took the red jacket from his hands and all but forced it on him, smiling when he caught sight of the glare Sherlock had leveled on him.

“Go on, then, might as well finish off the look, hm?” John said, clearly holding back his laughter. Sherlock smirked, thinking to himself that two could play this game, and pulled the pants on over his own. He held out his arms, surely he looked completely ridiculous, and took a step towards his friend. He was almost there when he slipped on a patch of ice and landed on John, the man falling back and landing in the sleigh. The reindeer, it seemed, had been waiting for this, and took off, pulling sleigh and men up towards the dark night sky.

“Impossible!” John shouted, whooping with glee as the sleigh took a rather alarming right turn, headed, as far as he could tell, north.

“Once you’ve eliminated the impossible, John,” he began, trailing off as John nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. He smiled and sat back, intent on enjoying the ride, as there was nothing he could do until they landed.

A few hours later and he was jolted awake by the sleigh’s rather ungraceful landing, though the reindeer seemed perfectly pleased with themselves. A group of children had surrounded the sleigh as he shook John awake, and the two of them watch as a person quite a bit taller than the others made his way to the side of the sleigh.

“Welcome to the North Pole, Santa and friend,” he greeted, “I’m Bernard, Head Elf here at the North Pole.” John, it seemed, had been left speechless by the proceedings, and so it was left to Sherlock to ask the necessary question, as usual.

“You called me Santa, why? Your ‘Santa’ is dead, he fell off of a roof.”

“If you put on the suit, you're the big guy. Didn’t you read the card?” he reached forward and pulled a card out of one of the pockets and handed it to him to read. “The Santa Clause: In putting on the suit and entering the sleigh, the wearer waives any and all right to any previous identity, real or implied, and fully accepts the duties and responsibilities of Santa Claus, in perpetuity to which some time the wearer becomes unable to do so, by either accident or design.” Sherlock nodded in understanding at Bernard’s words, though this was the most unusual situation he had ever found himself in. At least this meant that he wouldn’t be bored for quite some time to come.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all, folks! Let me know what you thought, and if you find any mistakes, you should also let me know!


End file.
